


Femlock: A Study in Pink

by ChaosandCottoncandy



Category: Femlock - Fandom, Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: F/F, Femlock, aulock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-22
Updated: 2013-11-22
Packaged: 2018-01-02 07:47:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,624
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1054267
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChaosandCottoncandy/pseuds/ChaosandCottoncandy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I am essentially re-writing BBC Sherlock with the characters gender roles switched.<br/>Still a work in progress.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Femlock: A Study in Pink

Joan Watson was awoken by the sound of her own voice- her own scream. She was thrashing in her sleep and the blankets had wrapped around her legs sending her into a horrific night terror. Joan still experienced these every so often. A painful reminder of her time serving as an army medic overseas for The Fifth Northumberland Fusiliers. Joan sat up in bed and untangled herself from the covers than swung her legs over the side of the bed. Her t-shirt was drenched with sweat. Joan pulled her short dirty blonde hair into a ponytail and rubbed the back of her neck. She was exhausted she hadn't managed a full nights sleep in weeks. Joan stood up and strode into the kitchen she knew she should eat something, she opened the fridge and stared. Nothing was calling her name, yet everything was. She shut the door and turned instead to her desk. She sat down and opened her laptop. Her own blog stared back at her empty. Taunting her. She ran her fingers through her hair and into her ponytail and sighed again before shutting her laptop. She couldn't start a blog, she didn't know how. Nothing exciting happens to me, she thought, how could she write about nothing. She stood up got dressed and grabbed her cane, maybe a walk would drive her to write, or at least to eat. 

Joan limped through the park, her cane in hand and a black coffee in the other when she heard a voice behind her. "Joan.... Joan Watson?" Joan turned into the face of a short heavyset man with glasses. The face looked familiar but Joan's mind whether from lack of sleep or food couldn't put it with a name. "It Mike, Mike Stamford". "Right yes, sorry." said Joan slightly embarrassed. She tucked her cane under her left arm and extended her right hand to shake her old school mates hand. He smiled warmly at her. "What have you been doing" he asked "Last I heard you were overseas being shot at." Joan looked into his eyes then hung her head. "Well, I got shot". Mikes smile faded fast, and he pointed toward a nearby bench "Seat?" he asked timidly, Joan nodded. Joan sat down next to Mike and they began reminiscing about their times together at medical school. Mike was still teaching at St. Barts where they had both studied. The topic eventually rounded to where Joan was currently living. "I can't afford London on an army pension" she sighed. "But you couldn't stand to be anywhere else." Mike said warmly. "Have you considered a flat share?" Joan scoffed "Who would want me as a flatmate?". Mike grinned again. "You know you're the second person who has said that to me today". 

Sherlock unzipped the bodybag slightly and looked at the corpse, without even batting an eyelash she asked aloud "How fresh?" "Just in, 67, natural causes" replied a male voice from the end of the table "He used to work here, I knew him, he was nice." Sherlock zipped the bag down a little further "Fine" she said her piercing blue eyes meeting the mans face who stood beside her. "We will start with the riding crop". Marty looked down at Sherlock in the morgue as she began beating the dead body over and over again with the lack riding crop. Her long dark wavy hair billowing behind her as she brought the full force of her thin frame onto the body. Marty winced as he came back into the room as Sherlock was delivering her last forceful blows onto the corpse. With a final whack she relinquished the riding crop with a sigh. "So, bad day was it" Marty joked as he approached her. "I need to know what bruises form in the next twenty minutes, a mans alibi depends on it. Text me." She replied completely ignoring his attempts at humour and turning to write in her notebook. "Listen I was wondering maybe, later, where you're finished-" "Are you wearing cologne?" Sherlock cut him off. "You weren't wearing cologne before." "I uh-" stumbled Marty "I just refreshed it a bit" Sherlock stared at him then nodded slightly skeptically before turning back to her notebook and asking "So you were saying?" "I was wondering if you would like to have coffee?" "Black, two sugars please. I'll be upstairs" replied Sherlock, she slammed the notebook shut tucked it under her arm and left Marty and the dead body in the morgue. "Ok" Marty said to no one as he looked down at his watch and went to find a mug for Sherlock. 

Mike knocked lightly on the door, pushed it open and held it while Joan managed to limp by his large frame. "Bit different from my day" she mumbled as she gazed around the room noticing a woman at the end of a long table covered in beakers and flasks. "You have no idea" replied Mike, watching her take in her surroundings. The woman at the end of the table spoke and Joan glanced down at her. "Mike can I use your phone, there is no signal on mine." As she spoke she tucked a long wave of dark brown hair behind her ear. "And what's wrong with the landline?" Mike questioned. "Oh, I prefer to text" the woman answered. "Sorry" said Mike "Its in my coat." Joan moved her own hand towards her pocket tentatively. "Uhm, here" she said "Use mine." The woman pulled herself away from her work and her eyes met Joan's. It made Joan very uncomfortable, being looked at the way she was. "Oh, thank you" said the woman and she pulled herself away from her work and glided over to Joan, extending a thin, pale delicate hand for the phone. "This is an old friend of mine- Joan Watson" Mike interjected. Joan pressed the phone into this woman's hands, and she immediately turned her back and began typing. Then without relinquishing her typing she said aloud "Afghanistan or Iraq?" Joan shot an anxious questioning glance at Mike who ignored it so she looked back at the woman and said "sorry?" "Which one was it Afghanistan or Iraq" repeated the woman. Joan looked dumbstruck and turned to Mike again who was just grinning like an idiot. "Afghanistan, sorry how did you-" she began but the door behind her opened. The woman turned and said "Ah Marty, coffee, thank you." pushing the phone back into Joan's hands without a words and grabbing the mug from the thin, petite mousy haired boy in a lab coat. "What happened to the cologne?" the woman asked, directing the question at Marty. "I changed, it wasn't working for me" he said. "Really? I thought it was a big improvement you smell too much like fabric softener now" "Ok" replied Marty quietly as the woman once again turned her back and strode to her original place at the far end of the table. "How do you feel about the violin?" The woman said aloud. Joan turned to Marty who shrugged and left the room. Mike looked at Joan as if to say, 'well answer the lady.' "Sorry what?" asked Joan confused. "I play the violin when I'm thinking sometimes I don't talk for days would that bother you? Potential flatmates should know the worst about each other." Joan stared at this woman and then turned to Mike "you told her about me?" "Not a word" said Mike fingering the various objects on the table. "Then who said anything about flatmates?" Joan asked defiantly. "I did" said the woman grabbing her coat and scarf and beginning to put them on. "I told Mike this morning that I must be a difficult person to find a flatmate for, now here he is just after lunch with an old friend clearly just home from military service in Afghanistan. Not a difficult leap." Joan looked down at her feet "how did you know about Afghanistan?" The woman ignored her question. "I've got my eye on a nice little place in central London, together we ought to be able to afford it0 we meet there tomorrow evening at seven o'clock. Sorry I've got to dash, I've left my riding crop in the mortuary." "Is that it" Joan said forcefully. "Is that what?" the woman asked turning around and facing Joan. "We've only just met and we are going to look at a flat?" Joan asked exasperated. The woman took a few steps closer to Joan. "Problem?" Joan looked desperately at Mike who was just staring at the two of them. "We don't know a thing about each other, I don't know where we are meeting, I don't even know your name." The woman took in a breath and began. "I know you're an army doctor and you've been invalid home from Afghanistan. I know you've got a brother who's worried about you, but you won't go to him for help because you don't approve of him, possibly because he is an alcoholic, more likely because he recently walked out on his wife. And I know that therapist thinks your limp is psychosomatic, quite correctly I'm afraid. That's enough to be going on don't you think?" She smirked at Joan and walked out the door, but just before her entire body disappeared she swung her back in. "The name is Sherlock Holmes and the address is 221B Baker Street." She gave Joan a quick cheeky wink, before turning to Mike nodding and saying "afternoon" then she disappeared. Joan just stared at the door in disbelief before turning to Mike, who automatically answered the question that must be so obviously reflected on her face. "Yep she is always like that."


End file.
